


This Can't Be Happening!

by Thistlepaw



Series: GFB [5]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Fluff and Angst, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlepaw/pseuds/Thistlepaw
Summary: Tweek wakes up one morning to discover that his parents had a... sleepover.
Relationships: Craig Tucker & Tweek Tweak, Mrs Tweak & Richard Tweak & Roger Donovan
Series: GFB [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168745
Comments: 30
Kudos: 29





	This Can't Be Happening!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweet_eijiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_eijiro/gifts).



> One day I was chatting to sweet_eijiro, who said "Now I kind of _want_ Helen to have two husbands", and when I realized I kind of agreed, the idea for this fic was born. 
> 
> Warning for references to sex - lots of references to sex - though I don't think there's anything actually NSFW in here. 
> 
> If this is the first fic of mine you've read, it's a completely non-canon side-story to the longer fic I've got on here, Ghosting for Beginners, and you might not find it all that funny if you haven't read that one first. (Sorry.) 
> 
> Just to reiterate, this story is more of a silly "What If" than a proper side-chapter. Please don't take it too seriously.

It’s just a morning like any other; a dark November morning when the streetlights outside provide just enough light to make coffee by. Tweek grabs a box and unscrews it, and his nose tells him it’s the Guatemalan blend – fine. That’ll do. He’s running more or less on auto-pilot, stuffing a filter in the machine, spooning the coffee in. So tired, because of some stupid, stressful dream he can’t even _remember_ anymore. It’s not fair, that he should wake up this early on a Sunday.  
Tweek leaves the lights off while he waits for the coffee to brew, blowing on his fingers. Shifting from foot to foot on the cold lino and wishing he’d thought to dig out a pair of socks. But as the smell of fresh coffee starts to fill the kitchen, he can feel his shoulders start to unknot themselves.  
If his parents were awake and watching him, he’d grab a mug from the cupboard, but at least there’s _one_ advantage to getting up this early on their day off: There’s nobody here to yell at him. As the timer clicks from red to green, Tweek slides the glass coffee pot out of the machine. He takes a second or two to just let the aroma drift up his nose; before he raises the thing to his lips.  
Click! On comes the light, Tweek freezes up and yelps in shock, and then the last person he’d expect to be here says, “Tweek, what are you doing?” Not in an angry way either, more like he’s confused and amused.  
Doing his best to pretend that he was just doing some sort of sniff test, Tweek slides the coffee pot back inside the machine and turns around to face…  
“Mr Donovan?” The urge to follow that up with “What are you doing here” is pretty strong, but his parents brought Tweek up better than that. Besides, Mr Donovan is their friend, so there could be a hundred reasons why he’s here this early, letting himself in with one of the spare keys. But wait. It’s Sunday, and Mr Donovan’s Catholic – shouldn’t he be getting ready for church? And wearing a suit, instead of a faded Adidas T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts with a mistletoe pattern?!  
“Um, yes,” Mr Donovan says, as his face starts turning red. “I wound up staying over. You were already asleep by the time we got in, so…”  
“Oh.” Tweek blinks. “Right.” Of course, there’s a logical explanation for everything. “You want some coffee?”  
“Yes, please,” Mr Donovan says, sounding relieved. Tweek’s already turned to the cupboards by then, digging out the old Batman mug that’s just sort of become Mr Donovan’s mug. His own favourite mug’s in the dishwasher, so he grabs one of the floral ones instead, even though they’re a bit on the small side.  
“Coffee would be great,” Mom suddenly says, and Tweek almost drops that mug right on the floor.  
“Gah! Mom! Good mor…” He turns around, and his jaw drops when he sees her there in her long-sleeved nightie, snuggled up under Mr Donovan’s arm. What the, what the actual...?!  
Mom starts to giggle, leaning into Mr Donovan the way Tweek’s only _ever_ seen her lean into Dad. And now Mr Donovan’s looking down at her like he can’t _believe_ his luck, and Tweek’s head is filling up with white noise, because even _he_ can tell that the two of them have…  
Down the hallway, the toilet flushes, and panic rises like a tidal wave inside of Tweek, because Dad’s going to walk in any second, following his nose, and he’s going to _see them_ all cuddled up like that, and…  
“Someone’s up early,” Dad says, as he pads inside the kitchen on his bare feet and slips one arm around Mom’s waist – and the other over Mr Donovan’s shoulder.  
Tweek blinks again. This is the strangest feeling, like the world is tilting on its axis. “Uh,” he says. For want of anything better to do, he pours coffee into that mug he grabbed for himself and takes a huge sip.  
“Roger spent the night,” Mom says, before she tilts her head up so Dad can give her a quick kiss good morning.  
“Yes,” Dad says, only pausing to kiss Mom on the lips, “We both took turns making love to your mother.”  
That mouthful of coffee Tweek just took goes _everywhere_. 

“This can’t be happening,” Clyde wails, digging his fingers through his brown hair. When he first turned up in his dad’s red Volkswagen Rabbit to pick Tweek up, his hair was brushed down and slicked back, all tidy for going to church. He was even wearing his suit, complete with shiny black shoes. But now, he’s wild-eyed and messy-haired, his tie’s askew, and going to church seems to be the last thing on his mind. “Tweek, I am so sorry!”  
Tweek, who’s kicked off his shoes so he can brace his feet against the dashboard – somehow, he seems to think better like this – turns stare at him, uncomprehending. “Why? It’s not like any of this is _your_ fault?”  
“Well no, but…” Clyde grunts with frustration, “But I told you, right? That my dad’s into your mom, and I could tell?”  
“You’re forgetting that _my_ dad’s in on it, too,” Tweek tells him, sliding his right foot closer to the little heating vent. “That all our parents had a…”  
“Jesus, don’t say it,” Clyde mutters, squeezing his eyes shut like there are some very disturbing mental images popping up behind them.  
“A consensual threesome,” Tweek says, and for a second he’s almost pleased with himself for finding the right words immediately. “Oh Jesus and Buddha, what’re we supposed to _do_ when people find out?!”  
“I don’t know! This is above my pay-grade, man!”  
Clyde drove them all the way out to the old elementary school, where the parking lot is empty save for their little old car. It’s weird, looking at that yellow building now – it seems smaller, and you can see the cracks in the paint. It’s snowing again, covering the tire-tracks behind them.  
“Maybe we could ask Token,” Tweek ventures at last. Token always seems to know what to do.  
“Dude, no,” Clyde exclaims, sitting bolt upright. “You _know_ he’s best friends with Jimmy, and even if he _doesn’t_ spill, Jimmy can damn near read Token’s _mind!_ He’d know something was up, and he just wouldn’t let it go until Token cracked, and then…”  
“Okay,” Tweek shoots in, as soon as Clyde’s paused to breathe. “So we won’t tell Token, and we won’t tell Jimmy. But can we tell Craig?” Suddenly, it’s all he wants – to tell his boyfriend. To have Craig tell him in his calm, measured way that there are much worse things happening in the world than Tweek’s parents having… sexcapades with Clyde’s dad.  
“Yeah, maybe… Maybe Craig could help!” The idea seems to cheer Clyde up a little bit, as he pulls his phone out and quickly thumbs through his Favourites list.  
It’s only after Clyde’s hit the Call button and set it to speakerphone that Tweek thinks to check the time on the dashboard clock; 08:46. Oh shit! What if Craig’s still asleep? What if he wakes up all annoyed, and yells at them both – which, actually, they would pretty much deserve, now that Tweek thinks about it.  
The phone rings for absolutely _ever,_ until Craig finally growls, “This better be good, Nugget.” He sounds like he’s half asleep, too tired to even be wary of getting Clyde’s name wrong.  
“Craig,” Tweek yells, so relieved to hear his boyfriend’s voice that he almost bursts into tears right there and then, “You won’t _believe_ what our parents did!”

Craig laughs so hard that, Tweek finds out later, his roommate at the rehab centre thought he was having some kind of seizure. Tweek’s never, ever heard Craig laugh this much – and judging from the look on Clyde’s face, neither has he.  
“This isn’t funny, Craig,” Tweek chides him, for maybe the tenth time.  
“I think he finds it funnier when you _say_ that,” Clyde mutters, hunching his shoulders up.  
“I’m, I’m sorry, honey,” Craig wheezes, and it sounds like he’s finally got himself under control. “But, what do you want _me_ to do about it?”  
“Tell us how to fix this,” Tweek snaps, running low on patience.  
“Fix it?” Craig sounds honestly confused. “I don’t think you can “fix” it, babe. I mean… You said they all seemed really happy, right?”  
“You mean,” Clyde’s voice is shaking, “You think they’ll do it _again?_ ”  
“Why not,” Craig asks, and his voice is deceptively neutral. “Maybe they’re doing it right now?”  
That’s when Tweek yanks the phone out of Clyde’s hand and yells, “Talktoyoulaterloveyoubye!!” before he ends the call.  
“Jesus _Christ,_ ” Clyde says, with feeling, as he leans forward to rest his head against the steering wheel.  
“Maybe your dad’s gone to church instead,” Tweek tells him, in a weak attempt to make Clyde feel better.  
“Yeah, so he can tell Father Maxi _what_ exactly, in the confessional?” Clyde shakes his head. “Sleeping with a married person’s probably the _worst_ thing you can do, after murdering someone!”  
“Good point,” Tweek mutters, closing his eyes. He wishes he could just go to sleep, and then wake up to find that this had all been a just a really weird dream, brought on by eating too much… ravioli, or something. “Are _you_ going?”  
Clyde shakes his head. “I just… I don’t know what to do,” he says, before he runs his hands through his hair again.  
“Maybe Craig’s right,” Tweek hears himself say, “Maybe there’s nothing we _can_ do.” 

As soon as they’ve parked the Rabbit outside Tweek’s house and stuck their heads inside, the two boys have to sit down for a chat with their parents – all three of them. Tweek and Clyde each sit in one corner of the sofa, both of them literally on the edge of their seat. Ready to flee at a moment’s notice, if the embarrassment levels exceed what the human brain is capable of processing.  
Mr Donovan’s sunk into the recliner, and Mom’s perched on the armrest, while Dad’s standing behind it, resting his elbows on the top. Tweek can’t fail to notice how all of them are casually touching in some way – Mom’s foot resting against Mr Donovan’s leg, while he’s leaning his head against Dad’s arm. And Mom’s reaching her right hand up to hold Dad’s hand.  
“You know,” Mom begins, “That we all care about you boys so much. And we don’t want to make this weird for you.”  
“We thought, let’s just all have a chat about it,” Dad goes on, “And just be open with each other. How does that sound?”  
“You all had sex,” Clyde says, and he sounds half scared, half accusing. “Right? How can we _not_ be weirded out by that?”  
“Well, not exactly, Clyde.” Dad probably thinks he’s being reassuring, the way he’s talking all slowly. “Your father and I aren’t attracted to each other at all.”  
“And that’s supposed – ngh – to make it all _better,_ ” Tweek hears himself say. “That you’re both just, just taking _advantage_ of Mom?”  
That’s when Mom starts to laugh – and it’s a very deep, unladylike laugh. “It’s not like that at all, kiddo,” she assures him, when she’s got herself more or less under control. “It’s more like I’m… the main beneficiary?”  
Tweek can feel himself starting to blush, and a quick glance over at Clyde tells him his friend is also turning extremely red.  
“Boys,” Mr Donovan says, speaking up for the first time. “Is this… _too_ weird for you? I mean, the two of you will always come first, we all agree on that. If you want us to… stop?”  
He’s serious too; Tweek can see that at once. But that just makes it ten times worse, because Clyde’s dad looked so happy this morning –they’d all looked so happy, in their little huddle. Tweek suddenly remembers something he must’ve heard or read, a long time ago – that you can’t measure love, because love is infinite. And he remembers how, when he came out to his parents by accident a couple of weeks ago, they’d greeted the news with hugs and pizza. So does he really have the _right_ to ask them to stop?  
“Mr Tweak,” Clyde says, like everything hinges on whatever answer Dad will give him, “Are you _sure_ you’re okay with this?”  
Dad disentangles himself from their little group, walks over to the couch and sits down between the two boys, before he reaches out to muss Clyde’s hair. “Absolutely,” he says, and Tweek _knows_ that he’s telling the truth.  
“At least Cartman doesn’t go to our school anymore,” Tweek mutters, before he rubs his hands over his eyes. He’s officially given up. 

Clyde and his dad don’t stay for lunch, to Tweek’s maybe not-so-secret relief. He can hear Clyde out in the hallway, telling Mr Donovan that he wants to get burgers while they’re putting their coats and shoes on, so they’ll probably be off to the Roadhouse then. Clyde deserves a burger after sitting through all that, Tweek thinks. Meanwhile, Dad’s pulled the wok down from the top of the cupboards and given it a quick wash to get the dust off, and now he’s chopping up the vegetables while Mom’s elbowing the fridge shut. She’s holding a block of tofu in one hand, and a packet of those stringy white Enoki mushrooms in the other. “Tweek, do you want rice or noodles?”  
It’s such a normal question, on the weirdest day of his life; that Tweek can only stare at her for a minute – rice or noodles?! He still can’t believe he told the three of them he’s okay with it.  
“Tweek?” As Mom’s hand gently closes around his arm, Tweek jerks awake.  
“Gah! Noodles!” It comes out as a demented scream, but over by the counter, Dad doesn’t even come close to chopping his own finger off. Whew.  
“Then let’s use up the vermicelli,” Dad says, without looking up, as he scrapes all those neat little pieces of broccoli, red onion and water chestnut into the wok. “Honey, have you seen the oyster sauce?” He’s talking about vegetarian oyster sauce, of course – the kind that’s made from mushrooms. Oyster mushrooms. But how can they just stand here and talk about noodles versus rice, when they’ve just told him they’re basically _dating_ Clyde’s dad now?!  
“I told you before, _all_ the sauces are in the drawer now.” Mom sounds a little exasperated, but mostly fond, as she pulls open the deep drawer with all the dividers in it. “ _You’re_ the one who said the bottles were getting gross from cooking fat.”  
As his parents fall into their familiar cosy bickering, Tweek pulls out a kitchen chair and sits on it backwards. That way, he can put his arms on the backrest, and lean his head against them. He can hear Clyde and Mr Donovan shouting bye, and his own parents answering, but he doesn’t manage as much as a grunt himself. Is this what a car feels like, when it’s got a flat battery? If cars were actually _sentient;_ that is?  
After lunch, which Tweek eats more or less on autopilot while his parents chat about going to Ikea, he’s come to a decision. The jasmine tea probably helped; as his only job for the meal, Tweek was put in charge of brewing it. He added a _lot_ of leaves to the pot, and now his hands are shaking from the caffeine high, but it helps. Because finally he can think more clearly, and he can see what, or rather who, the solution is. Token. Even though he _technically_ promised Clyde he wouldn’t. This is an emergency, and Token will know what to do. He always does.  
_Dude are you busy I really need your advice on something,_ Tweek types, hiding his phone under the table, and hits Send before he can change his mind.  
It’s not even a minute before Token’s reply comes buzzing in: _Is this a secret? Jimmy’s coming over later, but we’ll have time to talk if I leave now and pick you up._  
Tweek almost texts back _Yes please_ but then he thinks about it. There _is_ a chance his parents might say no, since it’s a Sunday and they might have clocked on to how little homework he’s been doing. “Can I be excused? And go to Token’s house?”  
“But we’re going to Ikea,” Mom begins, frowning. “Is he at least coming to get you, then?” It’s so weird, she’s wearing an old blue dress Tweek’s seen her wear a hundred, if not a thousand times. And she hasn’t changed her hairstyle either, it’s the same French bob she’s had for as long as Tweek’s been alive. Still – it’s like his mother is suddenly a completely different person.  
“We can manage one flat-pack on our own, honey,” Dad says, waving his hand while he’s still holding his fork, and dropping a piece of water-chestnut on the tablecloth. “Ah shit. Sorry.” Dad’s spilled oyster-mushroom sauce on his sleeve, Tweek notices distractedly. He also looks deceptively normal; wearing that burgundy sweater he got back when Tweek was _eight._ Mom had to put elbow patches on because Dad wore it to death but refused to let it die. But he might as well have been replaced by an alien. “Anyway, I can just drop him off at the Blacks’ on our way out – unless you’ve got unfinished homework, Tweek?”  
“I don’t,” Tweek lies, so quickly and smoothly that he almost impresses himself. 

“Holy shit,” Token says, after Tweek’s explanation-slash-rant has wound down and come to a complete stop. Tweek can’t even _remember_ the last time he heard Token swear. “I mean, wow. That’s just…” Token’s voice trails off, and he stares past Tweek’s head at some spot on the wall. “Wow.”  
The two of them are sitting on Token’s bed, facing one another – Token tailor-fashion, Tweek with his knees tucked under his chin. “So what am I supposed to _do_ about it,” Tweek wails, fingers digging into his calves because at least then he’s not pulling his hair.  
Token turns to stare at him. “I have no idea,” he says, and he sounds all stunned. Though whether it’s because for _once_ in his life, Token can’t think of a solution to a problem, or because he’s picturing things in his mind that he’d rather not see, Tweek really can’t tell.  
Suddenly, his thoughts are interrupted by a shout from downstairs – “Token! Jimmy’s here!” and Tweek’s startled enough that he almost falls off the bed.  
“You can’t tell Jimmy,” he whispers, untangling himself so he can grab Token’s wrist. “Please! You can’t tell anyone! Promise me!”  
“Okay, I promise!” Token pulls his hand free and jumps out of bed, before he runs over to yank the door open. “Coming, Mom,” he shouts, before he disappears.  
Tweek flops backwards on Token’s bed, feeling completely drained. He’d thought it would actually _help,_ telling Token everything, that he’d even feel _better_ afterwards. Yeah, right. He’s _still_ no closer to figuring this mess out…  
“Hey, Tweek!” There’s Jimmy, poking his head around the door before he shoulders it open. “Is s-s-something wrong?”  
“Gah!” Tweek literally jumps from lying down to a sitting position, like a folded-up jack-in-the-box when the lid’s pulled off. “No,” he all but screams, “I’m _fine!_ ”  
“Hmm,” is Jimmy’s only reply, as he comes all the way inside, leaning on his crutches rather than sitting down next to Tweek. The way Jimmy’s looking at him, Tweek feels like a specimen in a jar. “Okay,” Jimmy says at last, shrugging before he pulls out Token’s wheeled desk chair with one crutch and sinks into it. For one stupid, hopeful second, Tweek thinks he’s actually decided to drop it – but that’s when Token walks in.  
“You guys want a soda or anything,” he asks, and even though he’s smiling, there’s a worried note creeping into Token’s voice.  
Tweek quickly shakes his head no; he’s never really liked sodas all that much. Some sodas are okay, like the lemonade-y ones or even champagne flavoured soda, but most of them are just too sweet for him.  
“Nah,” Jimmy shakes his head too, before he asks, “So Token, what’s the b-b-big s-secret?”  
Token literally _squeals._  
Tweek, who’s never even _heard_ a noise like that come out of Token before, feels his jaw slide open. Holy crap, Clyde was _right!_  
“Don’t t-tell me you guys were m-making out before I got here?” Jimmy’s so obviously kidding that Tweek _almost_ starts to relax; only he knows Jimmy better than that – this is just a warm-up question.  
“Dude, no!” Token folds his arms across his chest, and even produces a little laugh somehow. It sounds one _hundred_ percent fake. “You know I don’t swing that way!”  
“So Tweek w- _wasn’t_ asking you for a three-way w-with him and Craig?”  
Jimmy’s still kidding, Tweek tells himself, and bites down hard on his own thumb so he won’t start squealing, too.  
“Of, of _course_ he didn’t!” But that’s the problem with Token – Token’s too honest. It’s all over his face now, and Tweek is starting to see how unfair it was, making him promise not to tell.  
“Hah!” Jimmy points right at Token, “So s- _somebody_ had a three-way! Who w-was it?!”  
That’s when Token runs out of his own bedroom, rather than break his promise.  
“Wait up!” Jimmy’s hauled himself to his feet in seconds, and now he’s scurrying after Token like a spider. “You’ve got to t-t-tell me, man!” It’s pretty crazy, how fast he can be, even on crutches. Fair enough that Tweek’s not in fantastic shape; he’s still struggling to catch up as he follows the two of them outside on the landing. “Who h-had the th-th-threeway?!”  
“It was my parents, okay,” Tweek screams, suddenly beyond caring. “My parents had a threesome with Clyde’s dad!!”  
Absolute silence follows this frantic announcement. It’s the kind of silence you’d expect to find in an undiscovered Egyptian tomb, where the only noise is the sound of dust dropping gently onto the outer layer of a sarcophagus. And then, very belatedly, Tweek realizes that Token’s parents are standing at the bottom of the stairwell, eyes wide, mouths open. They must’ve come from the living room to see what all the shouting was about; not that that even _matters_ anymore. Because now; they _know_.  
“I, ah,” Mrs Black says, sliding her hand into the pocket of her long cardigan, “I need to, uh, go _do_ something.” Tweek has a pretty good idea of what that “something” might be, though, since he can clearly see the phone in her hand.  
This really, really can’t be happening! 

After Token’s dropped Tweek off at home, he just stands there in the driveway for a minute and looks up at the sky. It’s already dark, even though it’s only late afternoon, and he can even see some stars up there. He’d turned down Mr Black’s offer of dinner because even though they’re bound to have _something_ he can eat, Tweek didn’t think he’d be able to choke down one single bite. Because now, _all_ the parents in their little group will know, and it’s completely _his_ fault, no matter that it was Mrs Black who either phoned or texted everyone. (Their house is so big, Mrs Black might’ve just gone to a different wing to make those calls; she’d been long gone by the time Tweek got downstairs.) Tweek can only hope that Craig’s parents aren’t up for explaining group sex to little Tricia.  
Back at that Thanksgiving dinner at the Tuckers’ house, Mom had joked about Mr Donovan being like a second husband to her. Had she been thinking about it then, inviting him to share their bed? Or had they all just spontaneously decided last night that having a threesome was the best idea ever? Why did it never occur to him to ask them about all these things earlier, when they _said_ to ask whatever? Because suddenly, it’s all he can think about. Was this whole thing Mom’s idea, or Dad’s, since Tweek can’t _quite_ see Mr Donovan working up the chutzpah to ask them if they felt like getting naked together, and JESUS, NO! _Not_ what Tweek wants to think about right now, or ever.  
He quietly lets himself into the house, painfully aware of the click his key makes when he turns it in the lock. If he’s really quiet, maybe he can sneak past them and up to his room… But wait. The lights may be on in the living room, but his parents aren’t down here. Not in the kitchen either, where it’s completely dark. Huh, weird. Tweek would’ve expected to find them on the sofa, Mom with her legs across Dad’s lap, either reading together or watching a movie.  
Then, he hears it – Dad’s voice, from upstairs, swearing up a storm. And when Tweek hurries up there, he comes face to face with his parents’ double bed, tipped on its side so that it almost scrapes the ceiling. It takes up most of the landing, and he has to squeeze past the thing. Just as well Tweek doesn’t need to pee, since it seems to be blocking the bathroom door completely.  
“…told you, Helen,” he can hear Dad saying from inside their bedroom, “As soon as we’re done with this _thing,_ I’m burning the damn instructions!”  
“But Richie, if you just try unscrewing – ”  
“They’re not even in English,” Dad goes on, as Tweek cautiously pushes the door open an inch or so, and peers inside. “They’re written in, in _cave-man!_ And that’s supposed to be _easy_ to understand?!” Dad spreads his arms wide, instruction manual fluttering in one hand, and that’s when he spots Tweek. “Tweek,” he says, “Come over here, and try to read this! See if _you_ can tell me what it means!”  
“Uh,” Tweek says, as he carefully slips inside and steps over the half-assembled bed-frame on the floor. Mom’s brought some of their smaller mugs upstairs to sort the different types of screws in, and those are all lined up along one side of the frame. But since when did his parents decide to get a new bed – _Tweek’s_ the one who got his bed trashed when they had the break-in!  
He takes the flimsy manual from Dad – it’s just a few stapled-up A4 pages. Two fat cartoon men are opening a flat-pack, scratching their bald heads, and their speech bubbles are filled with nothing but what must be Swedish emojis. “It seems kind of… abstract?”  
“Hah!” Dad seems to think he’s won some kind of argument, but Mom, who’s crossed the room to start unscrewing one of the bolts in the bedframe with an Allen-key, doesn’t seem all that impressed.  
“Tweek,” she says, “Can you pass me that plank over there?”  
As the three of them slowly assemble the bed, with Mom now in charge of the so-called manual, it becomes clear to Tweek that it’s pretty big – definitely bigger than their old one. The reason his parents were having problems are the drawers that you’re supposed to build into the base; for storing blankets or spare bedding or whatever. When they’re finally done putting the frame together, Tweek can see that there’s just enough space left in here for Mom and Dad to open the doors in the row of closets that runs along the right side of the room.  
“So,” Tweek pants, as he stands up and starts to brush down his jeans, “Why’d you guys decide to get an upgrade?”  
“Because I almost fell out of bed last night,” Dad says, stretching his arms so wide that Tweek can hear each shoulder pop. “So your mother and I decided we should get one that’ll sleep three people.”  
Tweek just stares at Dad for a while, before he remembers to close his mouth. “Oh,” he hears himself say, “That makes sense.” Even though _nothing_ about any of this makes sense at _all._  
“Come on,” Mom’s saying, already climbing over the bedframe and out the door, “Let’s get the mattress! We had to stash it in your room, Tweek!”  
“Of course you did,” Tweek mutters, as he trots out after her. 

It’s only after they’ve hauled in the new, king-sized mattress and slid it on top of the new, king-sized bed that Tweek finally cracks. Dad’s just mentioned dragging the old bedframe down to the garage, which is where the old mattress already sits, but enough is enough.  
“No,” Tweek says, and hops right into the new bed, folding his legs tailor-fashion underneath him. He’s almost startled by how firm his own voice is, and he can see Mom’s eyebrows shoot up under her fringe.  
“I’m sorry, Tweek,” she says, climbing into the bed as well. It creaks a little, since the mattress is still wrapped in plastic, and they haven’t even put a bed-sheet on; Tweek only hopes his parents remembered to _buy_ sheets that are big enough for this monster. “This must be a lot for you to take in, right?”  
“It’s just, it’s just, it’s GAH!” Tweek draws a deep breath. Talk. Speak English. He can do this. “I just don’t understand,” he says, as Dad sits down too, on the edge of the mattress. “Like, how does it even _work,_ and how did it even happen?!”  
Mom, sitting opposite him, reaches over, cupping her hands around Tweek’s hands. “All right,” she says. “Yesterday, Roger sent us both the same text. Just asking if the three of us could talk. So we agreed to meet him at Stark’s pond after work, and go for a walk.”  
“I honestly just thought he needed to borrow money,” Dad shoots in. “You know, with his store burning down and the court case coming up…”  
“But it turned out, that wasn’t it at all.” Mom starts to blush then, just enough to light her cheeks up. “Roger wanted to apologise for falling in love with me.”  
“Oh.” A feeling that might be pity, or maybe fondness, is starting to tug at Tweek’s heart. Poor Mr Donovan, he must’ve been so mad at himself.  
“So then I told him that’s nothing to apologise for,” Dad says, picking up the thread. “I said, “Why wouldn’t you fall in love with Helen, she’s fantastic,” and then Roger tripped over a rock.”  
“And then we found a bench.” Mom gives Tweek’s hands one final squeeze before she lets go. “And we sat down and talked about it. I think we were there for nearly three hours. And I guess…” She closes her eyes for just a second or two, before a secretive little smile lights up her face. “When your father and I first started dating,” Mom opens her eyes again, “I mean, he was Mr Open Book, but there was a lot of stuff I was afraid to talk about. All that stuff about my own parents; I was just scared it’d be too much for him. And I was _terrified_ he’d see all the scars,” she adds, with a little shrug.  
Then, Dad reaches past Tweek to tuck Mom’s hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “Maybe we should change our names to Open-Book,” he says, and his voice is all soft. “And make it double-barrelled, so it’d look extra fancy?”  
Mom snorts and rolls her eyes, but she also leans into his hand, and it’s like Tweek can suddenly feel a stone dropping from his heart. “Anyway,” she goes on, grabbing Dad’s hand and winding her fingers through his, “There was this point when I _had to_ tell him everything. And to my total shock, your father didn’t want to break up with me. After that… I guess we’ve just been open with each other about _everything._ So when we were all on that bench together, it wasn’t… It wasn’t such a scary topic after all. In fact,” she looks right at Dad, raising one eyebrow, “I’m pretty sure it was your idea?”  
Dad shrugs. “It’s like the Ancient Greeks said, isn’t it? You’ve got Eros,” he raises his free hand, “And Agape,” he goes on, raising the hand that’s still holding on to Mom’s. “Erotic love, and platonic love. It’s possible to love someone a lot, without there being a physical attraction – right?”  
Tweek finds himself nodding. That’s probably how _he_ feels, about all his friends. Even about someone like Token, who’s so _stupidly_ good-looking it can be downright distracting. What he feels around them, it’s like a ball of plasma bursting out of his chest; a piece of the sun itself. Endless love, love times infinity; love without desire because the love in itself is more than enough.  
“So…” Tweek feels stupid even saying it now, “So you guys didn’t get bored of each other? And you’re not gonna end up getting divorced and stuff?”  
Dad tips his head back and laughs. “Not on your _life,_ ” he says, before he puts one arm around Tweek and the other around Mom, and hugs them both tight.  
“I guess we could turn the café into one of those book swap cafés,” Mom says after a minute, “If we change the name to Open-Book Bros, I mean? Oh, or maybe a manga café,” she goes on, and Tweek can see her warming up to her own silly idea, “I read an article about those, they seem so cute! And people stick around for _hours_ to read!”  
Tweek groans, even though he _knows_ Mom’s not being serious. “People read that stuff online now,” he says. And then, because he’s a huge idiot and he just can’t help himself, he turns to Dad and asks, “So, uh… How _does_ it work? Do you and Mr Donovan like, take turns waiting outside, or…?”  
“Well… no.” For once, Dad looks like he doesn’t know what to say. “I mean…”  
“All right,” Mom says, pulling back a little, “If you really want to know? Both of them were just… Just _there_ for me the whole time. So when your father was inside me, for instance, Roger was kissing me all over – and I _mean_ all over! And when – ”  
“I changed my mind,” Tweek screams, pulling out of his parents’ embrace and jumping off the bed. Clapping his hands over his ears fast enough to make his left ear buzz. “I _don’t_ want to know, I don’t _ever_ want to know!!”


End file.
